Straw Man

by Patrick Logan

  Hanna remained this way until around midnight when she heard her parents make their way to their bedroom. Judging by her father’s heavy gait, the man had gotten into his substantial scotch collection. And why wouldn’t he? After all, he had to cut his business trip short on account of his degenerate daughter.

  And then, to top it off, he had to use his influence to make sure that she wasn’t charged with being raped.

  Ho hum, how hard the man’s life must be.

  Hanna waited for another half-hour before stretching her legs and groaning softly. She changed out of her soccer gear and donned a comfortable sweatshirt and a pair of jeans, recalling what Robin had said about her ‘designer’ clothes. It was a shame that Officer Bailey had taken her gun, plastic or not, but at least he hadn’t confiscated the whole bag. Hanna picked it up from where her mother had placed it and made sure her wallet, cash—including the forty-two dollars she’d ‘earned’, minus what she’d spent on the cab—and cards were still inside. She added a couple of pairs of fresh underwear and two clean T-shirts.

  The jump from her bedroom window to the ledge below, and then the grass, proved much easier the second time. Hanna didn’t so much as grunt when she landed on the ground.

  “Fuck you, Brett,” she whispered as she hurried across the lawn. Jumping over the fence proved more difficult, so Hanna turned sideways and squeezed through the opening instead. She almost got stuck but managed to wriggle her hips and slide between two wrought iron bars.

  For some reason, it took longer to get to the bus stop this time around. Hanna even considered calling a cab but decided against it on account of not wanting to leave a record of where she’d gone. No point in making it easy for her parents when they came looking.

  If they came looking.

  There was always the possibility that the idea of having a runaway kid was so embarrassing that her folks would rather erase every trace of her existence than search for her. Was that even possible? Maybe… if they sold their home and moved out of New York City. Cite the rising alt-right movement, perhaps, and grab a nice place in California to start all over again.

  Without child.

  Eventually, Hanna made it back to the old faithful bus stop, and there she sat, waiting for the only person who understood her, the only person who could make her happy. Robin.

  She needed Robin—needed her.

  As she waited, Hanna thought about Jill, about how her friend wanted to stay and if she had only listened to Hanna and they’d left, Brett wouldn’t have raped her. Hanna’s swirling thoughts came up with the idea, the ludicrous notion, that after she’d run away Brett had told Jill about the gun incident and that she was the one who had gone to the cops. That didn’t make sense, but neither did Jill not calling or swinging by to see if she was alright after the party. Jill couldn’t have known what Brett had done to her, but she saw the way Hanna had run away.

  And yet… nothing.

  “Fuck her,” Hanna whispered. “Fuck her, fuck everyone.”

  The bus came and went several times, but Robin didn’t show. Hanna waited another hour or two and had almost given up when she heard something. A laugh. It wasn’t high-pitched, but it wasn’t baritone, either. If the rest of the night hadn’t been so damn quiet, she wouldn’t have heard it at all. Hanna had no reason to believe that it was Robin making the sound, but she was nearly positive that this was the case.

  Wishful thinking at its finest.

  The laughter was coming from across the street, echoing up a narrow alleyway. Hanna cautiously crossed the road but hesitated when she reached the alley mouth. She could hear voices now, as well as laughter, both male and female. That sealed it; it was Robin, it had to be, and Hanna, imbued by the girl’s infectious courage, entered the alley. Chin up, she walked to the end, following the sound to a run-down, three-story apartment building. It was covered in graffiti and long since condemned.

  The perfect place for someone like Robin.

  Hanna imagined Robin peeling the plywood off the first-floor window herself. Naturally, the girl with the dark hair and hoodie was also the one who set the small fire in the center of the room, sending thin orange and yellow strands of light skyward to be devoured by the night.

  Hanna was smiling when she stepped onto a cinder block and put her hands on the windowsill.

  She’s going to be hella surprised to see me, was the last thought she had before silently pulling herself up, the pain in her lower half no longer a concern.

  It took a second or two for Hanna’s eyes to adjust to the scene inside the foul-smelling apartment. But when they did, her smile grew. Robin was sitting on a couch that looked like it had spent years unprotected in the sun and rain.

  But she wasn’t alone.

  Seated on the floor across from her was a boy with a wide grin.

  It was Robbie.

  An involuntary moan escaped Hanna and her hands slipped. She managed to land back on the cinder block, but it toppled loudly and like the sounds that she’d followed into the alley, this noise chased her out.

  As did Robin, who must have seen or heard her.

  “Hanna? Hanna, wait!”

  Hanna started to run, embracing the pain this time.

  Fuck Jill, fuck everyone. And fuck Robin.

  She was truly alone now; Hanna had no one to rely on, no one to look out for her.

  Except for herself.

  Chapter 42

  Hanna kept her head down as she walked and, eventually, Robin either gave up or lost her. It was early Sunday morning now, which meant that while the stream of cars was minimal, they weren’t nonexistent. And there was some benefit to the infrequency of cars passing by the mouth of the alley: those who drove by and slowed were more determined, more desperate.

  They weren’t window shopping; they had their wallets out and were ready to buy.

  Hanna did exactly what Robin had done: she removed her sweatshirt, pulled her pants down to reveal the white waistband of her underwear, and strutted. But nobody stopped for her. One car slowed to a crawl but there was a woman inside and she rolled down the window to ask if Hanna was alright.

  Hanna quickly waved her on.

  What the hell am I doing wrong?

  The more time she spent swaying her hips and thrusting her small chest high in the air, the longer Hanna had to think about what Robin had done to her. And the more foul the taste in her mouth became.

  She’d been duped, plain and simple. What stung the most is that Hanna had fallen for the basic ruse.

  A plastic gun… three degenerates with a knife…

  It was all a scam—everything from the boys coming up to her to Robin being her ‘savior’ was part of a plan. Why Robin didn’t just let the boys take her entire purse instead of intervening was the only thing that didn’t make sense. And Hanna would never know, because she would never speak to the raven-haired bitch ever again.

  They were probably laughing at me back in that shitty abandoned apartment. Robin probably told them what Brett did and they were all having a chuckle at my expense. Rich white girl from Manhattan crying about getting her cherry popped. Boo-fucking-hoo.

  Hanna hated Robin and those three boys, but she hated herself more. She hated herself for being such a whiny bitch, for being used and abused first by her mother, then by Brett, then Robin.

  How’d the old saying go?

  Fool me once…

  Determined to regain some semblance of control, Hanna undid the button on her jeans and folded the waistband down. It must have looked ridiculous—this had never been part of her plan and she was wearing an unflattering pair of white Fruit of the Loom underwear befitting of a toddler—but something clicked. Within minutes a gray Chevy slowed and then pulled over to the curb.

  Inside was a man with blond hair pulled back from his forehead. He was in his mid-twenties, Hanna guessed, but it was too dark to tell for certain.

  “You need some help?” he asked with a grin.

  Hanna strutted toward the
passenger window.

  “Do you need some help?” she shot back.

  The man cocked his head to one side and observed her strangely for a moment before nodding. He had odd eyes that were so pale a blue that they almost seemed to glow. Hanna’s heart thrummed when the man started to get out of the car. She hadn’t been able to overhear exactly what Robin had said to seal the deal but knew that establishing a price was critical.

  She was frightened but also thrilled.

  “Twenty for a hand job,” she said quickly. The man hesitated but then stepped out of the car. He was taller than she’d expected, six-three, maybe even six-four, and surprisingly handsome—nothing like the man with the gut and uneven mustache. “Forty for a blowjob.”

  The man acted as if he hadn’t heard her.

  “You out here alone?”

  “Maybe,” Hanna replied, trying to be coy.

  “Young girl like you out here alone… I’m alone, too. My mother left me, so did my sister. Just left me, you know? Said I wasn’t good enough, that my work was shit. Blamed everything on me. But my work is good…” he looked skyward and smiled. “It was the canvas that was shit.”

  The John’s behavior and words were strange and confusing, and Hanna was intent on getting things back on track.

  “Forty for a blowjob,” she repeated, backing into the alley.“And I need to see the money first.”

  The man followed her into the alley and then pulled his wallet out and flashed it at Hanna. There appeared to be a wad of bills inside, and at least the outside one was a twenty.

  “Only a blowjob,” Hanna said hesitantly. She didn’t want this John to get the impression that just because he had cash, she would do anything.

  “Where?” the man asked. His voice was deep and oddly comforting.

  Hanna indicated the dumpster with her chin.

  “Just over here.”

  She led the way, and the man assumed the position, his back against the wall. Hanna’s heart was pounding so hard now that she felt her body begin to rock a little. She knew that this was a dangerous game, but she was determined to see it through.

  Fuck Robin, fuck mom, fuck Jill, fuck Brett. Fuck them all.

  Hanna squatted.

  “Close your eyes,” she whispered. As she fiddled with the John’s belt, Hanna looked up to make sure that the man had listened.

  He had.

  As she continued to work his belt, Hanna dropped her right hand to her waist. When the man didn’t react, she felt around beside the dumpster, touching her sweatshirt first then finding her backpack. She’d deliberately left it open but despite reaching inside, she couldn’t find the fist-sized rock she’d put in there.

  Did someone take it out? Did someone—

  Her fingers brushed against something hard, and Hanna breathed more easily as she squeezed the rock in her palm.

  When she glanced up, she was shocked to see that the man’s eyes were no longer closed; he was staring down at her. What was even more startling was that there was no lust in his eyes like the red-faced John who Robin had robbed, but something else entirely.

  “Is there—is there something wrong?” she asked. Hanna continued to work on the man’s pants, knowing that she had to get them down to his ankles before doing anything. Otherwise, he was apt to chase her. Then who knew what he would do to her.

  It was the canvas that was shit.

  What the hell did he mean? What canvas?

  “You remind me of someone,” the man said.

  “I hope she was good.”

  “It’s not like that.” The man’s lip curled when he said this and there was an edge to his voice that hadn’t been there before.

  A cramp suddenly flared in Hanna’s left calf and she instinctively started to rise. But the John had other ideas. He put his hand firmly on the top of her head and kept her down.

  “Let go,” Hanna demanded. “Let go.”

  The man’s strong fingers squeezed her skull and with all of his weight pushing down on her, Hanna couldn’t move her head to one side and slide free.

  “Let go!”

  Hanna pulled the rock out of her backpack and thrust it forward, aiming for the John’s balls.

  She missed.

  It seemed impossible, but with her head being forced down, almost between her knees, the angle was wrong. Instead of smashing the rock into the man’s groin, Hanna hit the wall instead, pinching the first two fingers of her right hand against the brick.

  She screamed and dropped the stone.

  “Now get up,” the man ordered. “Get the fuck up.”

  Regret filled Hanna like air in a balloon. She didn’t want to get up, she didn’t want to be here. The man’s fingers tightened again, this time wrapping themselves in her hair, but a split second before she was yanked to her feet, someone shouted her name.

  “Hanna!”

  The grip on her head loosened enough for Hanna to glance to her right.

  “Robin?”

  The girl was running toward them, something dark in her outstretched hand.

  “Let her go,” Robin said. “Let her go, now.”

  The man untwisted his fingers from Hanna’s hair and raised both hands. Hanna immediately fell on her ass.

  “What are you doing here?” she gasped.

  Robin shook her head.

  “Just run, Hanna,” she said. “Run.”

  But Hanna was sick of running. She found the rock near the John’s foot and grabbed it. It was tacky with her own blood.

  “Hanna, what are you doing? Run!”

  There was desperation in the girl’s voice, but Hanna was determined.

  She stood, rock in hand. This time, her intention was not to smash it into the man’s balls, but the side of his head. The problem was that the John had other ideas. He grabbed her wrist before she could do anything and twisted.

  Hanna cried out and the rock fell harmlessly to the ground.

  “You tried to hit me.” The John sounded almost confused.

  “Hanna—”

  While still holding her wrist, the John spun Hanna around so that she was between him and Robin.

  “Are you going to shoot me?” he asked.

  It was a gun, Hanna realized. The dark object in Robin’s hand was a gun.

  A fake gun.

  “If you don’t let her go, I will.”

  Robin looked mean, she looked like she was telling the truth, but the John wasn’t buying it.

  “Then shoot me.”

  “I will.”

  As if to tempt her, the John pulled Hanna even closer.

  “Please,” Hanna whimpered. She tried to push off the man but couldn’t even put an inch between herself and him.

  “Do it,” the man said, shuffling forward. It wasn’t a threat, but more of a command. “You think you can just strut around here, parade yourself, make money that way? You think that I don’t know what you’re doing? That you’re doing things that I can’t? And because of that, mom is gonna pick you instead of me? Hmm? Well, what if I made you ugly… what if I made it so that you couldn’t do this, either? Couldn’t sell yourself? Maybe then mom would love me the way she loves you.”

  Hanna started to sob. There was something seriously wrong with the man who was squeezing her to his chest.

  Mom is gonna pick you instead of me?

  The lump in Hanna’s throat refused to go down.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Robin snapped.

  “Just shoot me.”

  “Let her—”

  Hanna felt the pain in her wrist subside, but it took more time to register that the John had released her than it did for his hand to shoot out and grab the side of Robin’s face. She saw the girl’s mouth go wide in a large ‘O’ an instant before her head was smashed against the brick wall.

  The sound was even worse than the sight, somehow; it was a wet crack that seemed to echo forever.

  Robin crumpled to the ground and the plastic gun, a replica of the one she’d
once given Hanna, broke into several pieces.

  “Yeah, I think I’ll make you my canvas—both of you,” the man whispered, seemingly undisturbed by what had just happened. “But first, you’re going to tell me you love me.”

  “Please,” Hanna begged. “Please, let me—”

  She didn’t even get a chance to finish her sentence. The John spun her by her hair and the next thing Hanna heard was a deafening hollow sound. She wasn’t sure if it had originated from the dumpster as her head collided with the metal or if it was from the inside of her skull.

  Chapter 43

  Hanna groaned and opened her eyes.

  Or, at least, that was what she tried to do. Only one obeyed, however, as the other appeared glued shut. She reached up and gently probed the area.

  Her fingers came back sticky with blood.

  Where am I?

  Hanna wiped enough blood away until she was able to open her eye. But even with both open now, and apparently functioning well, she still had no idea where she was. The only thing that was clear was that Hanna was in a dark room that smelled of fresh dirt. A single bulb dangled from what appeared to be worn wooden joists above her head, but the light it produced was a pale yellow that barely reached her.

  “Hello?” she croaked.

  Hanna wished she’d kept her mouth shut. It felt as if someone had put her head in a vice and was trying to shorten the distance between her ears.

  Talking seemed to speed up this process.

  With a moan, Hanna stood, only to bump the top of her head against something that forced her back down again.

  “W-what?”

  Hanna reached up and pressed her hands against what felt like a wire fence of some sort. Panic set in and this rush of adrenaline somehow triggered her memory.

  Everything about the alley, the John, and Robin came roaring back.

  “Help,” she cried. “Heeeeeeelp me!”

  The cage that surrounded her appeared to be made up of sections of chain link fence. She wrapped her fingers between the sections in front of her face and pulled. It held fast.

  No longer concerned about her headache, Hanna cleared her throat and then shouted at the top of her lungs.